“Fleet management” was a fancy term for GPS tracking and was standard operating procedure for all major car rental companies. He disabled the fleet management system in the minivan first and then the sedan. After, he did a full inspection of each vehicle to make sure no secondary devices had been added. He didn’t find anything.
Ten minutes later, the team exited the minimart, each carrying multiple grocery bags. Barton, the SEAL, was carrying several cases of bottled water, with a case of sugar-free Red Bull stacked on top.
“Somebody also bought coffee, right?” asked Harvath.
“Two kinds,” replied Chase, who was right behind him. “They even had a grinder inside. I got to do the beans myself.”
“At a gas station?”
“Welcome to Sweden,” he said with a grin.
Harvath was glad to see him so upbeat. The last time they had run an operation in Sweden, it hadn’t gone well. Multiple operatives had died, and Chase, who had penetrated deep inside a sophisticated terror cell, had been lucky to make it out alive.
Like Sloane Ashby, Chase Palmer had the right mix of what it took. He was young, sharp, and highly successful in the field. He was also fearless and, like Sloane, fully understood the threats that were massing around the world. They had had access to weapons and training the likes of which he had never seen at their age. Harvath envied them both.
They also had plenty of time left on the clock. They could go kinetic for years, if not decades, to come. Harvath, though, was already pushing his limit.
He was closer to exiting his forties than entering. He had been masking the pain that came from a lifetime of beating the hell out of his body with anti-inflammatories and the occasional Vicodin. In between, his preferred method was taking the healing waters of Buffalo Trace, Knob Creek, or Hudson Bay.
But despite everything that had been thrown at him, he worked hard to stay fit.
His training regimen had been crafted by one of the top sports medicine physicians in the country. In addition to massive weight and cardio workouts, he did what every successful operative did—he cheated.
The SEALs referred to it as the “cocktail,” while Delta called it “Hulk sauce.” It was a combination of performance-enhancing compounds developed by a group in Florida that worked on training and rehabilitating professional athletes.
Harvath had been the first at The Carlton Group to try it, even though Lara had cautioned him against it. The results turned out to be undeniable.
He had packed on ten additional pounds of muscle and had cut fourteen seconds off his mile. Even so, he was smart enough to know that there might be a price to pay. In time, the injections could be found to cause this or that illness. Right now, though, whatever allowed him to remain in the field was all that mattered.
Smiling back at Chase, he said, “So besides coffee, did we get anything else healthy, or is it all junk food?”
The young operative glanced in his bags. “Let me see. Vegan beef jerky, frozen Greek yogurt, wheat-grass-flavored mineral water—with extra pulp, and the pièce de résistance—probiotic Oreos.”
Harvath shook his head. “Sounds delicious. Let’s get going. I want eyes on Sparrman’s farm before sunrise.”
CHAPTER 31
* * *
The Gotland operation had always been envisioned as a snatch-and-grab of Sparrman. That meant concealable weapons, not long guns. But Harvath being Harvath, he had insisted that they bring one along—just in case. The weapon in question was a LaRue Tactical 6.5 Grendel FDE rifle with a Schmidt & Bender 5-25x56 scope with an illuminated reticle. In the case, Harvath had included a Summit thermal weapon sight for nighttime operations. They were glad to have all of it.
Across the road and slightly uphill from the Sparrman farm was a forest. It was the perfect spot for a hide site, a place to dig in and have an overwatch position of the key buildings on the property. Staelin and Chase had offered to take the first shift.
After pulling the car well off the road, the two former Delta Force operatives powered up their night-vision goggles and doubled back on foot as Haney unpacked the team’s drone.
It was pitch-dark, but the device was outfitted with an infrared camera. Harvath wanted to do a quick reconnaissance of the area to see if there was anything in particular they needed to be aware of.
Haney worked quickly. Within five minutes of removing the Storm Case from the car, he had the drone airborne.
The live stream could be fed to multiple devices. Harvath watched on a small tablet.
The technology was advancing so quickly, it seemed as if they were upgrading their equipment on a monthly basis. Not only was the resolution incredible, but the sound had also been attenuated to such a degree that certain drones were scary quiet. One could be hovering several feet above your head and you wouldn’t even know it unless you looked up and saw it directly. While good for his line of work, the rapid advancement in this and several other technologies gave him pause. He could envision a not-too-distant future where humans stayed behind in a tactical operations center while machines did all the work in the field—including, maybe someday, snatching human targets.
Shaking the thought off, he focused on the footage that Haney’s drone was sending back. It started far outside and worked its way in.
The Sparrman farm had multiple kinds of livestock, predominantly cattle, sheep, and pigs. There was a large poultry barn, and from what the drone could see, it appeared they had a healthy number of chickens as well.
In addition to the poultry barn, there were a multitude of outbuildings, including what appeared to be a dairy barn.
The large property was cross-fenced, with water stations in several places for the animals, along with plenty of run-in sheds and strategically placed grain dispensers.
Just off the road they had driven in on was the main house. It was two stories tall and a stone’s throw from an old wooden structure, which was probably the farm’s original barn. Behind it was what looked like a small administrative building. Across from that was what had to be a bunkhouse.
Harvath was particularly interested in the vehicles parked outside, and he had Haney zoom in for inspections. Even using the drone’s IR illuminator, there was only so much information he could gather.
Once the preliminary reconnaissance was complete, he had Haney recall the drone, pack it back up, and return everything to the van.
They checked in with Staelin and Palmer one last time to make sure they had everything they needed and then returned to the rental house.
When they entered, they expected everyone to be sleeping, but they weren’t. They were all in front of the flat-screen TV in the living room.
On it were images of incredible devastation. First responders worked feverishly to put out a roaring blaze.
The on-screen graphics, as well as the commentary, were all in Swedish. “What’s going on?” asked Harvath.
“There was a bombing in Rome,” said Jasinski, having pulled up the information on her phone. “At least that’s what some outlets are saying. It hasn’t been confirmed yet.”
“Where did it take place?”
“Some restaurant on the Piazza Navona.”
Harvath had just been in Rome, where he had helped disrupt a horrific attack. It seemed that no matter how hard they worked, it wasn’t enough.